


The Truth in the Lying Detective

by Radi_skull320



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, How Sherlock chose drugs, mention of Eurus holmes, therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radi_skull320/pseuds/Radi_skull320
Summary: Sherlock scopes out the most likely therapy practice John will go to next.  In doing so he ruins the practice manager's day and she makes use of the opportunity to pick the detective's mind for "practice".  This is all before Eurus gets there so no, this is not incest....





	1. Blue painted walls

So far as he could tell, Sherlock’s plan was working.  This practice was growing, but he wanted to survey the place in person.  He didn’t have much else to do while he pondered John’s next moves.  John would try to find another therapist, but it needed availability during the lunch hour.  So far that hadn’t been the case until he found this particular practice.  

While he sat in the waiting room, he noted the two stacks of resumes that were attempted to be hidden behind the cloudy glass of the reception desk. He also knew John liked to have space to maneuver so he wouldn’t feel trapped.  Looking around the waiting room, it felt inviting.

_Blue walls of course, calms the mind._

“Okay I’m ready to see you Mr. -” A woman emerged from the adjoining office, door swinging into the waiting room.  She was dressed in flat colors that make her unnoticeable in a crowd.  However, her steel grey gaze and dark hair made her look unnaturally inviting.

Sherlock stood up, walking past the woman to look at the therapy room.  He noted the continued blue color and large windows for a lot of light.  He sat in a couch and readjusted the pillows.

“This will have to go, get a chair with an ottoman instead.” He muttered to the woman.

“You are not the assistant to the prime minister.” She said coldly.

“How good of you to notice.”

“Who may I ask has the nerve to think they are worth my cancelling my clients for an entire afternoon?” The woman took a metered tone with him.  

Sherlock was still adjusting to the couch.  It was also grey, but was soft enough to feel like it was going to eat him up.  To counter this feeling, he popped up and walked around the room.  He inspected the walls to find rather abstract art and a whiteboard.  

“What would you even write here?  It’s not like you’re teaching.” He uncapped a pen and started to write.  “Though I can see the appeal.”

The woman watched him write for a little while and sighed in frustration.

“You must be Sherlock Holmes.” She stated with displeasure.

“I wanted to see how long it would take you.” Sherlock retorted finally looking the woman in the face.  Her exasperated expression softened her gaze, Sherlock filed away her attractiveness.  A quality that John liked in the women that surrounded him, particularly therapists.  “I’d like to know _your_ deduction process.”

“Your face has been plastered on the telly as either a wanted man or in exultation.  I’m half inclined to call the police for you impersonating a government official.”

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want that.” Sherlock said flatly, returning to the couch.  “I can be quick with you Dr. Saunders.”

Sherlock hoped for a surprised reaction at the mention of her name.  He got none.

“No, by all means, prattle on.  You’ve suggested that this appointment take 4 hours.” Dr. Saunders at in her chair and put aside her clipboard.

“That was your own reaction, I’m not in control of how you react.”

“Generally, when a member of the government calls contemplating ending his life, I try to make sure we have ample time to sort through relevant issues.” The woman spat.

Sherlock vaguely considered that he might have gone overboard with getting this appointment with her today.  

“Well, Dr. Saunders,” Sherlock tented his fingers returning to the couch.  “There will be a client who will call you, looking for a lunch appointment in the near future.  I will need you to take him on.”

“That is an absurd request.” Dr. Saunders replied with disdain.

“It is not.  It wouldn’t have to be you specifically, although from what I’ve observed you would be ideal.” Sherlock began his list for her.  “From the stacks of resumes it looks like you’re taking on a new therapist at this practice which will mean that you will have the openings for the times I’m requesting.  The fact that there is only one room for therapy here and several empty walls means that you will all be sharing this room.  With the color and level of sunlight at that hour, this location is adequately familiar to places he’s been in the past.  And I know that clearing out the rest of the day for me has cost you dearly so you will be looking for a long-term client to compensate.  Ex-military members have the best benefits and compensation, so that would be the only type that would make up for your loss, which is what he would be.”

Sherlock waited for a reaction, but Dr. Saunders remained unmoved.  He did miss John’s comments on his brilliant deductions.  The utter lack of reaction actually irritated Sherlock.  She could at least let him know that he was right, because he was.

“So, on the statistical probability of one man’s potential actions, I should let my new therapist know to keep the entirety of her prime slots open for an indeterminable amount of time.” Dr. Saunders folded her hands on her knee and waited.

“Indeterminable,” Sherlock scoffed. “No, most likely a month.”

Dr. Saunders was not amused.  

“Mr. Holmes, I’m in charge of this practice.  However, I’m not in charge of the specific actions of the other therapists that work with me.  The best I can do is to let the new one know that someone may or may not call.  And as the one that you have personally compromised for the day, I hardly see how indulging you or your odd requests truly benefits me.”

Sherlock noted her practiced tone, likely one she uses for difficult patients.  He wondered why she didn’t just ask him to leave.  It wasn’t as if he would provide her any compensation for the time she mistakenly blocked out.  When he did the checks and balances of what had happened so far, if this practice were to take on John and his plan to work, he would have to make sure he left this office with Dr. Saunders pleased.

“I don’t see anything I have to offer you,” Sherlock stated flatly.  “Besides a potential patient.  Wouldn’t knowing that a consulting detective with a positive track record available on the internet owed you a favor be enough?” It was a stretch, but it was something he was willing to give.

Dr. Saunders shifted in her chair, leaning on her left elbow.  Sherlock found himself mimicking her stature without knowing why.  Her steel gaze sharpened, looking through him.  Despite the comforting feeling of the couch, Sherlock suddenly felt on edge.

“How about,” Dr. Saunders reached to put on and Sherlock found he had to swallow nerves. “Just a conversation.”

Sherlock looked confused, but quickly corrected his features.  He raised a finger and wagged it at her.

“Oh, typical.” Sherlock began louder than he intended.  “Ahem, typical therapist speak.”

“Hmm, well I’d have to say it would be a waste to my field if I didn’t take the opportunity to at least _converse_ with the great Sherlock Holmes.”

“Your field is only a step away from being a waste, since you therapists care so much about _emotions_.”  Sherlock spat impulsively.  Realizing the insult slipped his lips, he anticipated an angry response but there was none.

“Well if that is how you feel about it,” Dr. Saunders said matter-of-factly. “Then I would expect you wouldn’t be threatened by our short conversation.”

Sherlock felt caught, he never liked therapists.  It was exhausting enough to sort through his own thoughts, he didn’t like it when someone could see his sorting process.

“Besides,” Dr. Saunders cut off his mental processing. “Wouldn’t part of you feel some amusement as an inferior mind such as mine fiddles with the puzzle that is you?”

Despite the goading in her tone, Sherlock felt his curiosity spike, it was a familiar and comforting feeling.  He would like to watch someone try, like watching a toddler solve a rubix cube.  

“Well, aren’t you a tricky bird.”

“You can call me Melanie. Water? Tea?” She got up and moved to the other side of the room.

“Whatever you are having from the same kettle.  If this is a test of your psychological skills, you can’t be dosing me with truth serum.” Sherlock attempted to cut down her ability.

“Of course,” She replied unfazed.  “Such skills in my near waste of a field.”

Sherlock watched her pour into two disposable cups at the other side of the room.  

“Do you think drugging people is something I’d do? To you? Your friend?” Melanie said loud enough so he could hear her.  

Sherlock remembered a couple of times that he had drugged John.  He supposed it was only something he did to people.  Other people should consider it though, it’s their fault they are trusting strangers with drinks.  All the while he tracked her movements.  She presented him with two identical cups.

“I’ll even let you pick.” She said with a practiced half-smile.

“You strike me as too morally aligned to drug my friend.” Sherlock responded into his chosen cup.  

Melanie settled back into her seat and faced him.  

“This is an awful amount of effort you are doing for a friend.  Scoping out a place he may not even call.”

When she phrased it that way, it sounded like his actions were fueled by sentiment.  He wanted John back for cases and intermittent praise.  There was a time they were friends but -

“Is he alright?” Melanie asked plainly.

“I...let something be taken away from him.” Sherlock responded ambiguously.

“So you control things for him.”

“No, I made a promise.” Sherlock looked into the cup and back at Melanie.  “He will call you though.”

“How do you know?” She peered at him over the rim of her glasses.  

“Because I know him,” He responded too quickly.  “I know how people work.”

“Really?” Melanie replied in a bemused and lilting tone. “All of them?”

“Most likely.  If you search for me, there is a blog dedicated to all of my successes…” Sherlock trailed.  The blog that wasn’t currently being updated because the author was-

“I didn’t ask where I could find proof you can read people.  I asked if you believe you can.”

It was a therapist-y question.  His skin prickled in annoyance.  Of course he believed he could. He started to scan her.  He was going to retaliate with information about her, he was going to show her that he could read anyone.  

He sifted in his mind for qualifying information from the website he found her in.  Nothing was easily recalled because she wasn’t the focus of the search.  He scanned her for anything but all small stains on her feet made sense for the context, she was dressed unremarkably, and her glasses looked like she got them from the local Tesco.  No, there was nothing he could prove to her right now.  He needed context.  There was annoying amount of urgency in him despite her patient gaze.  Sherlock made a small frustrated noise.

“Obviously.” Sherlock huffed and turned away.  He decided he would try to scan the room.

“You sound annoyed.”

“Of course I am.” Sherlock looked at her again. “Your questions and statements are asinine! I have all the proof that I am good at what I do. My skills are right, I am right.”

“So you’re annoyed with me?” Melanie calmly took a sip of tea despite the man’s angry display.

Sherlock breathed in through his nose in frustration and shook a fist at her.

“Yes, who else would be in the room to be annoyed at.  You will see that he will call.  You will see that I am right.”

“If you are so sure of your skills, why is it important that a plebeian like me believe that you are right?” Melanie answered assertively to the comment directed at her.

She was needling something too close. There was a pang of fear and he scanned the ground. He wanted to come up with a comment that would shock her into silence so this would stop.

“Who really needs to believe you are right, Sherlock?” She added with cold curiosity.

That was it, her words felt like a centipede along his skin.  This wasn’t part of the plan.  This wasn’t why he was here.  Enraged that she had derailed him so, Sherlock snarled as he lept off the chair and grabbed the arms of her’s.  He stopped inches away from her face.

Melanie barely stirred.  Her eyes quickly darted up to meet his fury, then she closed them to take a steadying breath.  It was a fleeting moment of dilation, but Sherlock wasn’t sure it could be deduced.  He did catalogue that she smelled like gardenias.

“Do you really think you’re the first person to threaten me?” Melanie used her practiced tone again.  It infuriated Sherlock.  He couldn’t make anything out of her rehearsal.  “You are welcome to leave, you are not my client.”

Sherlock glanced at the door and surveyed his body.  He was a little sweaty and his heart was pounding.  He was definitely angry, but looking around it didn’t feel warranted.  The option remained that he could leave, he did have control of his situation.  So why did he feel so out of control...over a conversation?  He cleared his throat and headed back to the couch.

“No, I’m not.” He muttered, sitting back down.

“Okay,” Melanie relaxed.  “If you don’t want to answer the question, what will you talk about?”

“Do you consider yourself to be successful?” Sherlock queried, clear to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“I do.” Melanie answered plainly.  

Though he had been able to choose the topic he was displeased with the confidence of her answer.  

“Truly,” Sherlock leaned forward resting his chin on his fingers. “If you were to do anything else…”

“Why?” Melanie asked back. “Your friend seems to put stock in what I do.  It’s clear you take the concepts that you like from my field.”

Sherlock was sorting, trying to pull up the last experience he had with a therapist.  He wanted to compare.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Sherlock replied distantly.  

“What are you doing?” Melanie peered at him inquisitively.

“Sorting.” He responded, working with constructs in his mind.

“Ah yes,” Melanie removed her glasses. “Method of Loci. It would make sense that you rely on that most.”

“I’d like to think I made it my own.” Sherlock demonstrated his familiarity with the term. “My mental organization is a mind palace.  Spacious enough for the details I have to sort through.”

“Of course it is.” Melanie chided. “So many details, Sherlock.  How do you know which to keep?”

Sherlock paused, genuinely puzzled.  

“If I find there is too much detail, I just...delete it.”

“Really?” Melanie leaned forward more, Sherlock felt her eyes on him. “Minds don’t operate like computers.”

“Well, I’d like to think mine does.” Sherlock pulled up the last experience.  It didn’t match at all, the woman from mental files was much older and didn’t query as much as Melanie had.  He averted from the reverie and met Melanie’s gaze.  His organization dissipated.

“If it were truly like a computer, how do you defrag?”

“Pardon?” Sherlock was getting distracted.

“When you delete something from a computer it doesn’t instantly or efficiently refill the space until a program reorganizes every file. Unless you are dedicating time to complete reorganization of your mind, I think you’ve just severed a connection.  You haven’t ‘deleted’ per se, you are just left with the mental equivalent of empty space without the connection to interpret or articulate it.”

Sherlock didn’t like where this was going.

“I wonder then,” Melanie added with a touch to her chin. “Are there ‘deleted’ things you wish to reconnect to?”

His face was getting hot.  Sherlock experienced the familiar feeling of the tiny feet of a centipede encroaching on the center of his heart.

“Because at that point, you’ve just chosen to repress things.” Melanie looked at him with determination and knowing full well what she was suggesting.  Though Sherlock felt rage he assessed it was out of place.  That bothered him.  He wanted to punch this woman and yet have her continue her questioning.  

_To want to engage in conversation with a simpleton.  That is unacceptable._

Sherlock sat straight up in the couch, the shift in light let him know he had been there long enough.  He remembered what Melanie had told him a little while ago.

“I’ll be going now.” Sherlock mimicked Melanie’s metered tone.  He decided it was clearly useful for such situations.  Quickly standing up, Sherlock adjusted himself.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you more for your time.”

Melanie rose in a fluid motion, grey eyes calm and inquisitive still.

“Oh no, thank you.  You’ve given me plenty.”  She walked to the door to usher the man out.

Sherlock didn’t like that answer.  He cursed coming here, none of this would have happened if John just admitted that Sherlock was right.  Not looking at Melanie as he head out the door, Sherlock hailed a cab and went home to the mess at Baker street.


	2. Knife in the Mantle

It had been two weeks.  Sherlock expected that John would have paired up with a new therapist now.  But he wanted to make sure he had been right.  It was important that Dr. Saunders knew he was correct.  He pondered calling the practice after assessing the rate of decay of the pig’s feet occupying 4 jars in the fridge.  

_An experiment I couldn’t be running if John were still around._

That thought stung a little and echoed a little in the walls of the palace.  He recalled the encounter at the practice while looking through the microscope at the hoof indentations.  At least he had gotten out of the habit of reaching for cups of tea that John used to place by him.

Sherlock slammed his fist on the table and drew in a breath.  Even though the time he had spent with Dr. Saunders felt like tiny feet crawling along his skin, the centipede still filled the emptiness he had felt in the spaces between his elaborate plan.

Sherlock texted the phone number available on Dr. Saunders’ website, hoping to avoid direct contact.  He was greeted with an automated reply about DPA laws and privacy.  He fumed, irritated that _therapy_ was considered protected information.  He begrudgingly dialed the number and waited.

“Circle District Practice, how can I help you?” Answered a new voice, a receptionist Sherlock concluded.  She hadn’t been there before.  Dr. Saunders probably learned a better screening process after his attempt.

“Yes, is Dr. Saunders available? I’d like to speak with her directly.” Sherlock mimicked a tone higher than his own from a man he heard on a train.

“Um, that’s not usually protocol here.” The receptionist paused, Sherlock strained and heard a whisper. “Who may I ask is calling?”

She was being directed, by Dr. Saunders herself? He used his normal tone now.

“If she is there with you, let her know this is her 1 o’clock from two weeks ago.”

The receptionist drew a surprised breath and paused, this time Sherlock was put on hold so he heard nothing.  

“You are being transferred.” An automated voice resounded in the silence.

“Hello Sherlock.” There was the familiar practiced tone that gave Sherlock a prickle of irritation. “Are you well?”

“Mmm” Sherlock opted to ignore her question. “Did he call you?”

“What, still unsure if you were correct?” Dr. Saunders replied calmly.

“Answer the question.” Sherlock could feel his jaw tightening.

“You know I can neither confirm nor deny someone being a patient here, DPA law.  Particularly like the military one you described.” There was no intonation of either confirmation nor denial.  Sherlock immediately regretted speaking to her directly, he decided it would have been better to speak to the receptionist who would at least give a tonal indication.  But he had wanted Dr. Saunders to know he had been right, this would have given him more satisfaction.  

“I understand,” Sherlock replied mimicking her tone now. “I appear to be wasting your time.”

“Again.” She punctuated.  Sherlock ground his teeth, disliking the control he was losing despite being the one making the call.  However, he had done his research this time, he remembered her curiosity piqued previously.

“How about...another conversation?” Sherlock stared directly down the barrel of his gun now aimed at the wall, he was ready to fire if she responded incorrectly.

“Oh,” _Yes, that’s it.  Mild surprise._  Sherlock grinned gleefully.  “Is this going to be an appointment situation? Is it going to continue?”

“Oh don’t be daft,” Sherlock dropped the gun and turned to the phone in annoyance. “I don’t _need_ you, I’d just like to compensate you for the client you did or didn’t take on.”

“Of course,” Dr. Saunders reverted to her metered tone. “When shall I expect you?”

“No,” Sherlock returned his aim to the wall. “You’ve cleared out your schedule for me, I will clear out mine for you.” He mentally did checks and balances for the prospect.

“I believe this is generally how your cases start.” Dr. Saunders replied cooly.  “Unsuspecting woman enters a man’s flat and ends up as one of the bodies tertiary to your deductions.”

Sherlock noted the woman’s concern.  His arm was getting tired from steadying a gun he knew couldn’t fire until he was off the phone.  Scanning the apartment, he wasn’t sure if he could adequately conceal all of the things that could looked like he was going to kill her.  

_John cleared out client threats._

He mentally recoiled.  No she’d have to come here to home turf.

“I assure you,” Sherlock irritatedly lowered the gun. “That will not be the case. 221 B Baker St. at 3 in the afternoon, Sunday.”

\----

Sherlock’s definition of cleaning meant shutting the kitchen doors.  No smells could get through and all of the animal parts were well concealed.  These days there wasn’t much takeaway to be thrown in the bin and the computer was kept clear of clutter.  He had been lucky a buttoned shirt was clean for the day.  He briefly considered taking down some of the papers he had stabbed into the mantle, but decided he didn’t care.  The reason he wanted her over was to get a read on whether his plan was working.  

“Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson peered into the open door.  Dr. Saunders was standing behind her in the stairwell just out of view. “Cases? On the week-end?”

“Not a case, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock answered her in the kindest tone he could.

“Oh?” Mrs. Husdon raised an eyebrow.

“Not _that_ either.” He replied irritatedly.

“No need to be rude.” She said boldly and turned away to get back to her flat.  “Come on dear, I guess he is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson was it?” Came the cool voice putting Sherlock on edge. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled at Melanie warmly and looked at Sherlock with a question in her eyes.  Sherlock ignored her.  Melanie entered the room and Mrs. Hudson closed the door behind her.

Sherlock scanned Melanie, circling her like a vulture.  Again he noticed she was dressed plainly, a brown dress and grey sweater.  However he noted they were both tailored to her specifically, like there was an active effort on her part to look plain.  She was carrying a large tote with an open top.  Peering inside he saw books, her eyeglass case, and an inhaler; asthmatic he concluded.  Her grey eyes were not obscured by glasses at the moment and her dark hair was still drying from a recent shower.  He inhaled catching the familiar gardenia scent.

“You didn’t enter until you saw her, did you.” Sherlock opened his eyes and waited.

“Someone needed to see me enter.” She replied cooly.

“A witness.”

“Precisely.”

Melanie started to walk around the room.  She traced the indents of the bullet filled wall and messed with the lifting flaps of the wallpaper. Putting her bag down by the folding table and computer, she looked at the mantle.  Sherlock got irritated when she tried to read one of the papers with knife in it.

“Melanie,” Sherlock tried to catch her attention. “If you could sit here.” He motioned to the chair that he had people describe cases to him.  Melanie’s eyes darted from the paper to the chair and then to his face.  The look gave him a chill.  Quietly she obeyed and took a seat.  Sherlock sat in his normal chair for case interviews, so that she was positioned to his left.

“So, I did come.” She began.

“Yes,” Sherlock took a seat in his chair. “The practice has been growing I presume?”

“It has, greatly in fact.”

“Oh, fantastic.” Sherlock offered a mock smile.

“Was that something you assumed?” Melanie adjusted in the chair trying to relax.

“Maybe tangentially.” He braced himself, ready. “But that wasn’t my main prediction and you know it.”

To his fury, she drew a breath to cancel any reaction on her features.  Sherlock had learned this as a tactic of skilled therapists.  

“Still need to know if you were right then?” She queried.

“I don’t need to know. I need you to know.” Sherlock stated making a face.

“I still can’t tell you,” She glanced around. “Did you think changing the scenery would make me more pliant?”

“If I were to deduce all actions considered, you came to meet me when I mentioned this as compensation.  As such, the act of you coming here would have to mean that you did take him on.” Sherlock rushed out in a flash, hoping this was enough.

“Does it?” She offered with a smile now.

The gentle gesture irked Sherlock so.

_Why is she being so difficult?!_

He tried another tactic.

“John...yes.” Sherlock offered reproachfully, trying to summon some wetness in his eyes but not enough to obscure a scan.

Melanie raised an eyebrow but then showed empathy.  

“This John, means a lot to you then?”

“He...used to be...just over there.” Sherlock motioned to the chair opposite to him.  “There are times...I mis-” there was a crack in his voice he didn’t muster as part of the act and Sherlock quickly caught himself.  In an overcorrection of his features, he swallowed losing the emotion in his voice. “It’s not the same without him here.”

He glanced back and saw Melanie smirk.  She caught his overcorrection and lost some of her tension. Sherlock was losing control in his own home.

“Your work then, Melanie.” Sherlock stated quickly.

“Pardon?”

“Tell me about it.” Sherlock gestured with disinterest despite his command.

“I would imagine some of it to be rather similar to your’s, don’t you think?” She answered, trying to catch his gaze.

“No,” He responded in an appalled facial scrunch. “Mine requires research, knowing details! Paying attention to things _people_ overlook.  Making connections people don’t have the capacity to make.”

“Of course,” She replied again cooly. “What was I thinking.  Clearly people have all come to you because of your efficient _capacities_.”

The echo of his own words reverberated in the empty space within him.  The suggestion that a part of him was not _efficient_ was bothering him.  This conversation shouldn’t be happening.  She should be honest with him in some regard so he could get information, the truth.

“Insulting my abilities in my own home!” Sherlock gripped the arms of his chair and launched himself to his feet.  He began to pace. “I have done my job, solved every case.  There’s surely a list of clients you’ve failed.” He punctuated with a shaking finger at her.

Melanie looked away from him, some irritation on her features, knuckles white gripping her other hand for a moment.  With a gentle reset she returned her gaze to Sherlock.

“You seem irritated.”

“What a brilliant bloody observation!” Sherlock boomed, angry hands tugging at his own hair to keep from strangling her.  No reactions, no tells, nothing useful was coming from her habits to inform him. “Why won’t you tell me anything?!”

“Wasn’t a client you failed, was it?” Melanie said sternly.

When Sherlock glanced back at the woman’s stone gaze, he was met with a painful mirror trying to shine light into his emptiness; trying to explore the source of the echoes inside of him.  The brief glimpses it revealed threatened any hope he entertained of John coming home.  He wanted none of it, it wasn’t truth.  It couldn't be the truth.  Everything was only a possibility until he had evidence and he had to hold to such hopes whatever the cost.

“How dare you lord your baseless hypotheses over me!” Sherlock said lowly through grit teeth.  He had moved toward her, punctuating his words with each step.  His enraged visage inches away from her face.

He had moved in close very quickly, Melanie didn’t have adequate time to correct.  She was indeed surprised at the smaller distance between them, but that wasn’t all.  Despite his rage, Sherlock caught goosebumps prickle through her, a quick bite on the flesh behind her lip, and a blush only noticeable at close distance in the darker lighting of his flat.

There was a flash of the dominance Sherlock could have over the woman that was making him feel cornered. Finally, a crack in the armor. He drew in a quick breath to cool the warmth spreading through him.  The familiar smell of gardenia reminded him of the woman sitting before him.  When he opened his eyes, he saw that Melanie had corrected her features as best as she could, the light pink dusting all that remained on her cheeks.

“Not the first sociopath you’ve known.” Sherlock remarked quietly, placing a hand over her wrist on the armrest.  She stiffened at the contact.

“No.” Melanie whispered looking at the ground.

“I will get...what I want...from you.” Sherlock nearly growled in his low baritone.  Her pulse hammered against his fingertips.  Despite this, she looked at him slyly.

“You are welcome to try.”

 

The resulting connection of flesh was far too violent to be described as a kiss.  Sherlock devoured Melanie’s soft lips, finally robbing her of the ability to ask anymore questions or creating derailments.  She met him with matching vigor running her free hand through his wiley curls giving an experimental tug. Sherlock answered by pressing her into the chair earning him a moan as her head tilt backwards.  He pressed his lips against the skin of her exposed neck and chuckled threateningly.

“Oh no dear,” He cooed grazing his teeth along her collarbone. “Not anymore.”

Catching the lobe of her ear in his teeth, he clawed down her side and over her thigh making sure she could feel it through her dress.  She looked back at him now panting through swollen lips.  Sherlock would feel more triumphant if it weren’t for the pressure in his trousers, but he felt he made his point clear.

“A deal then?” Melanie asked quietly.

_Yes!_

Sherlock, still holding her wrist, gruffly led her up and to the bedroom.

He refused to think about the implications of the current actions.  Shoving aside the truth that he was about to sleep with a woman just for confirmation about John.  No, this was clearly about being right.  Mentally he was running through his mind palace grabbing all the details he had on his previous female encounter and anything that he had read on techniques with women.  If he was effective after-the-fact, natural chemicals would act as truth serum despite an understood deal.  

Standing in front of the bed now, Sherlock cupped Melanie’s face and attacked her lips again knowing he was closer to what he wanted.  When he felt her go for the buttons on his shirt, he ran his nails gently against her scalp while licking the shell of her ear.  He grinned when she moaned and her hands faltered.  With a quick motion, Sherlock found and undid the back zipper of Melanie’s dress and nudged her backwards so the mattress could knock the back of her knees.  She fell onto the bed unsteadily but worked on removing her clothing so Sherlock could do the same.  Once they were both down to undergarments, Sherlock joined her on the bed, crawling toward her like a predator.  

In his renewed assault on her mouth, Sherlock felt Melanie running her hands along his chest and back.  He sensed her participation waning, like she was cataloging him.   _Unacceptable_ .  Sherlock undid the novel front clasp of her bra and cupped her breast.  He glowed triumphant again when Melanie had to come up for air to gasp at his touch.  At their disconnect, Sherlock explored along her neck and stopped exhale warmly over her free nipple.  Taking advantage of his wingspan, Sherlock snaked his touch along her abdomen. Tucking under her panties he ran a slender finger along her slit finding it wet and ready for him.  Melanie let out a desperate whimper. _Yes,_ Sherlock wanted her incoherent and undone.  

Her cries fueled his unattended erection.  Acknowledging it meant he was either hard for this woman or for a prospect of being closer to John.  He palmed himself in preparation for Melanie.  

She looked up at him in anticipation with an innocuous questioning glance.

Sherlock wanted none of her gaze, anything that led back to their previous verbal dance was unacceptable.  Unhanding himself, he ran deft fingers through her folds listening for changes in her breathing.  She cried out and threw her head back when he explored inside her only a knuckle deep.  Finally free of her gaze, Sherlock tried to think through the next steps of his plan.  He reasoned that this wouldn’t be happening if she didn’t have the information he wanted.  

“Thinking...about him?” Melanie asked between heavy breaths.

Pulled to the present with fury, Sherlock nearly snarled and ended his ministrations.  She reached for his cock to return his actions but quickly had her hands batted away.  He aligned his still hard cock with her slit and plunged in with little warning.  Melanie cried out in a bit of shock at being filled but mellowed out into enjoyment.  Sherlock became frustrated realizing she was getting everything she wanted out of him.  He withdrew and thrust forward again sharply, the sensation of friction fueling his rage at her.

“I...am NOT...some simple mind...for you...to crack!” Sherlock barked at her between thrusts.

“Same...huh-hardware...different...c-oh-content.” Melanie muttered as coherently as she could.

“STOP TALKING!” Sherlock roared as he pushed his shoulders under her knees to shift their angle.  Melanie arched off of the bed and threw her arms back to grasp the headboard.  Sherlock could feel the pressure building in his body, blood steeped in rage and lust.  It felt wrong, dirty, and awful but his body was tightening and preparing for release.  He admitted that today he hadn’t felt empty, that having a body in their bed was like filling a square hole with a round peg. It was something.  His thrusts were becoming erratic and Sherlock tried to remain furious with Melanie instead of admitting he was angry at himself for this exact position.  He tried to remember that this was all steps to get John back here.

Melanie snickered between erratic breathing and furrowed brow.  All biological tells indicated she was nearly undone.  But her pewter gaze met his with a knowing look, entirely aware of where they were and what Sherlock had done to his home.

“Like he’d take you back.” She uttered so quickly as the last of her control faltered and her muscles fluttered against Sherlock.  The shock of her statement and the intensity of her grasp along his cock wrestled release from him.  He pulled out of her frantically in an effort to stop but it was too late.  He felt betrayal by his body with each pulse from his member leaving evidence of his defiling on the bed.  

Sherlock didn’t move.  He remained hunched over on his knees and stared at the bed.  What had he done? He had been wrong. The round peg had done nothing but leave him more empty because what truly belonged there would never come back.  Not after this, not if he knew.  Sherlock stared blankly at the linens and tears stung his eyes threatening to fall.  

_The plans don’t matter, nothing matters if he can’t take me back._

Some time passed but Sherlock was only concerned with the building feeling of loneliness.

“He took a recurring appointment in the afternoon.” Sherlock glanced up, forgetting someone had been in the room with him.

“Pardon?” Was all he could muster.

“A John H. Watson?” Melanie was already fully dressed again.  The only evidence that remained of their exploits were her swollen, darker colored lips and a few misplaced strands of hair. “I agreed to this because I can tell you now.  I’ve relinquished the practice to a new therapist.  He’s no longer in my care.”

“Seems very unethical of you.” Sherlock commented finding footing in the facade of conversation.

Melanie smiled a him and motioned generally to the apartment.

“Point taken.” Sherlock replied.

“I’ve a new position elsewhere that will start soon.  None of it concerns you of course.” Melanie was gathering the last of her things from downstairs.  Sherlock still lacked the impetus to move, so she returned to the bedroom looking nearly identical to how she had arrived.  She paused in the doorway and looked at Sherlock, now standing and wearing only pajama bottoms.  He looked up noticing her movement in the doorframe.

“Yes?” He addressed her absently.

Melanie sighed heavily but quickly returned to her clinical gaze.

“As much as it is clinically counter-indicated…” Sherlock looked at her more expectantly than he meant to. “You were right.”

Sherlock felt his heart hammer against his chest and the upward tug on his cheeks.  It was taking a monumental effort to contain his glee.

“Thank you for your contribution Dr. Saunders.” Sherlock over enunciated.

“Farewell, Sherlock.” Melanie said warmly and departed.

With the click of the door, Sherlock dashed downstairs and withdrew the knife from the mantle and threw it into the wall.  He re-examined the papers for his great plan.  He immediately discarded the entirety of pain and concern he had been feeling about his encounter with Melanie.  It didn’t matter, he was right and everyone sees it eventually.  John will too.


End file.
